


There are mountains beneath the sea

by SteelMagnolia



Category: League of Legends
Genre: I love this ship so wanna show my own view on it, M/M, Past and Present Timelines, TF and Graves relationship over the years, more characters will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelMagnolia/pseuds/SteelMagnolia
Summary: Perhaps their meeting was fated, perhaps not. One thing was sure--there was something lurking just beneath the surface.(Or how their relationship started, changed, snuffed out then re-kindled)
Relationships: Malcolm Graves/Twisted Fate
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Odd Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> My own take on TFGraves before and after the Bilgewater event, with some additional stuff to be added. Comments and opinions are much appreciated! I want to improve my English and also give the fandom what it has given me: content with these two, which is so rare to find ;-;.

_13 years ago._

His arms are outstretched in front of the flowing water. The mud all around his precious boots, the little motion waves whenever the wind blows. Specks of red and gold in the deepest blue he’s ever known. All of these, he doesn’t see them. His eyes are fixed on the depths below; his mind is chanting words he’d long believe to be forgotten. The words of his people, the ones to whom he owes one last thing, now finally prepared to discard it for good, to return it to the water.

His name.

Tobias F. lowers his hands slowly, as if the name was a sacrificial gift to the river he had once called home. He sinks to his knees, hands reaching for water, splashes his face three times. He should’ve bathed, he thinks, for the ritual to be complete…

Details. The water was deep and unwelcoming. He had to be quick; predators were lurking in the shadows. Once the sun finally sank, they would begin their hunt. Not enough time. This would do. Tobias ran his hands through the dreadlocks—these would have to go too. The clothes, his fancy boots as well. With a new name came a new life, and nothing of the old should be kept or it’d come back to haunt him, just like the events of that day. That _fate_ ful day when he wasn’t strong enough to save his crew and the one person he had called partner. Now that it was too late, that he lost in front of his weakness, he had to renounce his name, his old past, to the water that carried him throughout his life, ever present, watching.

In the last rays of the sun, the sky’s glow fading to a blood red and blue, Tobias F. remained within the river, sinking slowly to its depths. He was a weak man and now he was gone. The river received him back, noncommittally. In his place, _Twisted Fate_ rose to his feet. No signs of any predators, but just in case, he flicked a golden card from his pocket. Tonight was the first night of his new life; it’d be a shame to end so soon.

* * *

Malcolm Graves was being interrogated for the third time today. No answers. He would be interrogated for another two times today, and they would still get no answer from the stubborn outlaw. _Won’t give him away_ , he thought, _the bastard’s mine._ They spent two years together, raising havoc from Bilgewater to Piltover, always coming out on top no matter how dire the situation was. When it asked for fight, Malcolm was sure to deliver. When it asked for flight, Fate’s cards had always taken them back to safety, prize intact and a promise for more. Hell, they even got a crew to make things run more smoothly.

Until the bastard decided he had a change of heart.

Surely, the circumstances were dire, more so than they have encountered before, but haven’t they pulled heists that no one had dared to even dream of before? They had always escaped with bruises, scrapes, torn clothes and broken bones. They always got each other’s backs. What had changed now? Malcolm couldn’t even form an answer in his head. The blows and questions he received from the guards, trying to squeeze out the slightest bit of information had made his resolve even stronger.

No, he won’t give them shit. The bastard was his to deal with. No matter how much he had to endure, no matter how much time would pass, Graves somehow knew that he would eventually get away. They said no one got out of the famous _Locker_ , but Graves had been dealt nothing but bad hands throughout his entire life. Abandoned at birth, he was raised by the mercy of strangers until he learned to survive by himself. When he put his mind into something, nothing could stop him. He was a survivor. He will find a way to escape, and when he does, he and Tobias will settle the score.

They dumped him back in his cell. The wounds he had were patched up by someone whom Malcolm believed to be a medic of sorts. “Fucker ain’t talking,” he hears one of the men who interrogated him explain to the guards, “We oughta try some different method, don’t ya think?” says another. Malcolm lies down on his stomach on the makeshift cot. The conversation outside his cell gradually fades as he slips into a deep slumber.

* * *

Two days later, Twisted Fate slipped back into the city unnoticed. The streets of Bilgewater’s Bay were as busy as ever; fishmongers, merchants promoting the latest goods, prostitutes luring men and women with promises of pleasure, sailors bound for another journey. Fate wasn’t seeking either of those. There was a particular kind of pedestrians that T.F. was interested in—tourists, most of them from Piltover, the City of Progress. Young lords and ladies looking for a bit of thrill in their otherwise ordered and carefully scrutinized life. Their fine clothing stuck out like a sore thumb among the regular Bilgewater folk. At a closer look, T.F. could tell some of the newly arrived in Bilgewater’s Bay were even younger than him, who was no more than 26 at the time. _Young, curious and_ _obviously naïve_ , he told himself as he watched a merchant sell a necklace of pearls for twice the price value to a young man trying to impress his female companion.

_This evening will turn into a profitable night_ , T.F smiled to himself. Walking towards one of the local gambling dens, Fate made eye contact with the lady who was about to receive the overpriced necklace, greeting her with seductive smile and a nod of his hat, a new acquisition he was particularly fond of. She blushed like a young bride on her wedding day, just in time for her pretender to notice this scene, shooting T.F. a venomous glare.

The trap had been set.


	2. Tobias' Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! This took longer than I expected, really sorry about that ;-;. But! More glimpses into Tobias' and Malcolm's past with some little insights on their relationship prior to Malcolm's incarceration.

13-12 years before Burning Tides 

Malcolm woke up to the sound of chains rattling against the wall facing his bed. His head was pounding, his body whole was aching, each pain separately reminding him of its limits as he tried to sit at the edge of his bed. There was no source of light save for the magic infused bars that kept him from smashing them to pieces. His eyes adjusted to their light. How long had he been here? Days and weeks had been lost to forced labor, torture and interrogation, patching up. Rinse and repeat. Today would be another day in the long streak of days since his incarceration. Another lined scratched on the wall next to Tobias’s card that fuels his anger.

His current cell is underground. That’s where they put prisoners who refuse to cooperate, prisoners who have gone insane, prisoners no one ought to know about. Some of those are of noble birth, judging from the fancy words they used to address the guards. Malcolm was the first kind of prisoner, relentless to keep his mouth shut. Very rarely, their interrogative techniques get to him when certain memories resurface, clawing their way into Malcolm’s resolve, attempting to tear it apart. So he feeds them all sorts of clues leading to dead ends, especially when it comes to any traces that could lead to Tobias’ whereabouts. Not that he has any idea where the bastard ran with his tail between his legs after leaving him to rot in here.

Time passes by. A year later, the guards bring a new prisoner next to his cell, to the right. He listens to the man yell that he’s innocent one night, two nights, the third night he yells back curses and threats aimed at someone else in his head. The man shuts up.

Some days later, the man feels like talking.

“Why are you here?” He asks, testing the waters.

Graves is sitting on his makeshift cot, counting the lines on the wall. He rolls his eyes, then answers. “Got caught, same as you.”

“But I am innocent,” protests the man, “I…”

“So I’ve heard. That’s all you’ve been yapping about since ya came here.” Graves interrupts him, already irritated by the man’s incessant plea for innocence.

“I did not steal the golden box! I was framed by mistake. The thief disappeared into thin air,” he gestures a moving circle with his hands, even though Graves couldn’t see it, “just like that, there was this magical circle underground, made of cards. Just like that, the thief was gone.” There was desperation in the poor bastard’s voice. “When the guards came, no sign of him there.” The man puts his face in his hands.

Graves feels like the air is knocked out of his chest. His fingers twitch, trembling with seething anger. _That son of a bitch_. There was no mistake. Tobias framed the poor idiot on purpose, disappearing just as the guards where prepared to walk in on them. Malcolm tries to stop himself from hauling the makeshift cot at the wall with Tobias’ card on it, slams his fist against it instead, with such strength that make the man next to his cell jump in surprise.

“Shut. Up”, Malcolm growls. The man obeys.

* * *

12 years before Burning Tides

Rumpled sheets, half dangling on the floor. Clothes were thrown everywhere around the room in the most expensive lodging one could find for miles. A hat was carefully placed on the table next to the windowsill showing a view to Bildgewater’s upper, luxurious district. Next to the hat there was a golden box, the size of a book, with fine blue-colored lines decorating it in a runic pattern. The room was quiet except for the regular breathing of the man sleeping in the messy bed that could accommodate three people. Morning sun light was peaking through the curtains, engulfing the sleeping man's face into a golden light. He is sleeping on his stomach, the upper half body bare down to his buttocks. There's no sound in the room except for his regular breathing. 

Twisted Fate is sleeping soundly, unaware of the looming shadows approaching Bilgewater from The Shadow Isles. In three hours, he will sense it though, before many innocent lives do; T.F. will dress up in a hurry, grab his precious box and vanish to a safe location before the dead begin to prowl among the living. 

* * *

18 years before Burning Tides

“So all this bullshit ‘cause ya want a box with a pack of cards in it?” Malcolm asks Tobias, who tries to look indignant, feigning innocence at his partner’s accusations.

“It’s a box with a special kinda pack of cards, Malcolm,” Tobias replies, carefully drawing out the word special to make a point to his friend. Malcolm scoffs. Tobias ignores him, then continues nonchalantly, “besides, it just so happens that I want it.”

“You want somethin’ and we all gotta work to get you shit we ain’t gonna make much money from. Ain’t no easy job, either.” Malcolm throws back, irritated by Tobias’ smug face. He couldn’t care less about the dangers they would face. It was the way he demanded everyone do his bidding. There was one more thing that rubbed Malcolm the wrong way, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He feels like Tobias isn’t just playing card games alongside him, he’s playing _with him_ , and Malcolm’s been dealt nothing but bad hands the keep him on a losing streak.

They were walking along the docks of Bilgewater, waiting for their crew to show up after finishing the last preparations for their new heist Tobias had become very interested into. Once he found out that among the goods of a certain Bilgewater nobleman was a golden box that was rumored to contain a unique pack of cards, imbued with magic powers, Tobias couldn’t let go of the idea to get it for himself. He had no interest in the box itself; the crew could just sell that to cover up for his whim. He only wanted the pack of cards it carried, and for reasons Malcolm couldn’t fathom. Tobias wasn’t giving him shit and it irked him.

Malcolm lowers down to pick up a rock and absentmindedly flicks it into the sea. Three splotches. Third time’s the charm.

“Ain’t going with y’all tonight,” he says with his back facing Tobias. Luckily, he doesn’t see the surprised look on his partner’s face, who knew Malcolm wouldn’t step away from a heist so easily.

“The box is worth a lot of money,” Tobies reminds him, eyeing Kolt and Wallach approaching them from one of the nearby taverns where they met with the informer who gave up the box’ location.

“Why’d you want it?” Malcolm turns around and asks, but Tobias pretends to ignore the question, pointing towards the direction where their crew members are coming from. “We should get going. We finally got our lead.” Still a playful smile on his face, but with some irritation in his tone that if it weren’t for Malcolm knowing Tobias for years, he wouldn’t have sensed it. So he lets the matter drop, walks past Tobias, then Kolt and Wallach waving at him excitedly. He doesn’t wave back. If Tobias wants the box so badly but won’t say why, he won’t get any help from him.

He walks around the city’s lower streets aimlessly until he feels the anger in his gut cool down a bit. Destiny needs new ammunition, some oils; a couple of smoke bombs, too. Graves makes his way towards a beat-up weaponry shop to grab everything he needs. The shopkeeper, a small, bald headed man with a crutch for support, recognizes his voice and greets him with enthusiasm. Their crew has made a habit to purchase supply from his shop, occasionally tipping the man to preserve some of his best merchandise for them. The man is in a chatty mood. Malcolm tells him to keep the gossip and flattery for himself, picks up himself from the shelves the supplies for Destiny, the smoke bombs, a couple of oils to clean the gun later, pays the equal price and walks out.

Hours later, after leaving the supplies back at their hideout, he returns to the docks with an almighty thirst. Malcolm walks into the same tavern from where his crew mates exited a few hours ago, called The Bearded Lady’s Lair. He eyes the surroundings, spots the informer who approached them earlier this day playing cards at a table close to the bar, slightly closer to a backdoor exist, too. He can’t tell if the man is trustworthy or not; at a closer look, he’s not really a man. The boy appears to be about 18, clean clothes and hat, face slightly pimply shoved in his cards as if they were a woman’s chest. Amateur, not thief material or informer. Something was off, could be just his imagination amplifying things and leftover anger to top it off. Too bad for the pimply boy, Graves is still pissed off enough to give it a try and screw with him and his friends for a bit.

Malcolm walks to the barkeep, buys a bottle of whiskey, not too cheap, not too expensive, then in the other hand he takes a chair from an empty table, brings it to the informer’s, sets it down with a loud thud. Six people stare at him as the bottle of whiskey is put on the table. While the surprised faces watch him carefully, he fishes for a cigar and a pack of matches out of the pockets of his britches.

Malcolm lights his cigar, grinning. “Y’all mind if I join?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the second chapter! Hopefully the next update won't take so long. I was looking to finish some uni work before posting this chapter, which is why I delayed it for almost 3 months ;-;. As usual, every read, commend, kudos and bookmark is much appreciated!


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